


Can't We Be Seventeen?

by snowkatze



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 09:12:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14446053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowkatze/pseuds/snowkatze
Summary: To deal with his vampirism, Baz keeps initiating fights between him and Simon. When he realizes that it makes neither of them happy, he doesn’t know what to do.





	Can't We Be Seventeen?

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to anyone who feels more dead than alive sometimes.

I feel awful. Everyday, all the time. I think that's the worst part about this. Knowing that the feeling isn't going to fade, and that even when I'm kind of happy, it will still be there. I'm too cold, even in summer, when the sun shines relentlessly, I'm still cold. And I spend too much time thinking of crossing over – of how easy it would be, to just – light a flame above my palm – and – I try not to think about it. Some days are worse than others, but there is rarely a day that isn't bad at all. I think about it in percentages. How dead am I feeling today? Sixty percent here, forty percent across the veil. I know that isn't how it works, but I don't know how it works, so I might as well pretend.

It's a bit of a comfort that it isn't for forever – it's not for long at all, my days are counted. I know vampires are supposed to be able to live forever, but I'm not going to. I'm going to live another year, three or four at best.

And it's one of these days – and I feel like I'm floating. Not underwater. In space. And it's dark, and there are no sounds, and I'm all alone. I sit through the classes, and listen to things I already know, and raise my hand every once in a while, so that Bunce can't take my spot on top of the class, but I still feel like a ghost. Not a vampire. A ghost. I'm invisible, and I'm floating at least a feet above the ground.

So I go to football practise, because I'm always looking for something to ground me, to make me feel like a real person – but it doesn't work today. I run, and I breathe, and I'm still not real. On my way up to our room, I light a flame in my palm, and will it to make me feel warm, but it doesn't. It's not enough. And I can't bear the thought of waking up tomorrow morning and still feeling like this. Like half a corpse. Or maybe more than half.

I step into our room, and there is Simon Snow sitting by the window. And I can't bear to look at him, and his glowing hair, and his eyes, and at the same time, I can't look away.

Simon bloody Snow.

It's ridiculous. I'm ridiculous. But I need him.

“Snow,” I say in my most condescending tone, “I was missing my number one fan at football practise today. How come you didn't show up?”  
“The Universe doesn't revolve around you, Baz,” he answers and frowns, irritated. I take a step towards him.  
“That's hypocritical of you to say, don't you think? Considering you followed me around all of fifth year.”  
I'm picking on him, but it doesn't help, so I feel like I'm not being cruel enough.

“That – that was just to make sure you weren't plotting anything.”  
“So, what, you think I'm plotting during football practise? The only thing I could be plotting is to kick the bloody ball in your face.”  
“I – but – you could be cheating!”  
“Oh, come off it. You went to enough of my practises to know that Pitches don't need to cheat.”  
“You're not as perfect as you think, you know? I know you have a weak spot.”  
 _You. You are my weak spot._ But I could never tell him that.

“Good luck trying to find it. You, in turn, have countless weak spots, and they are all plain as day.”  
“T-that's not true.”  
“You're a disgrace to magic, and everyone knows it. You don't know how to think for yourself, someone else always has to do it for you. You're the Mage's marionette.”  
He growls at me and I know that I've got him.  
“But must importantly -”

He lunges at me and I quickly step out of the way, so that he stumbles past me.  
“You can never back down from a fight.”  
I smirk at him and I can feel his magic in the air. I can tell that he's about to lose control of it. I only have to keep prodding him, and he'll go off.

Something flashes in his eyes, and he surprises me – he flees the room. But I can't let it go – not today. I run after him because I have to. Because he makes my heart beat faster. And flutter. And because he makes my stomach drop and my hands sweat (just a little) and because I imagine only someone who is alive can feel like that.

Snow stalks across the field and he looks like he's ready to explode. I run up to him and grab his shoulder. Drag him back. To rile him up, but also just to touch him.

“Don't fucking touch me,” he screams, swearing like a Normal, and then he punches me in the face. I feel the impact immediately, the way his fist meets my face. I stumble backwards a bit, and for a moment, a very high noise that only I can hear drowns out everything else. Blood starts dripping down my nose and runs over my lips, but I give him my most gruesome smile.

Then I take a swing at him and my knuckles crack open. I can feel the adrenaline rush through me. There's so much force in him.

When we're fighting, I don't have to hold anything back.

He throws himself at me – and I can feel my heart beating.

I push and tug at him – and I'm breathing, breathing, breathing.

We roll across the grass – and I catch ground under my feet. There's solid ground beneath me. It smells of smoke and earth and grass. My nose hurts, and I have a nose, and my knuckles hurt and I have hands, and I'm hurting all over, and I'm real. I want to make him feel it all – I hit him and I push him, and it's like I'm yelling at him,  _I'm real_ .

This is all I have. I don't think he understands how dependant I am on his short temper.

But then he pushes me off him and backs away.

“Leave me the fuck alone, okay?” he yells and leaves me standing here, panting. I don't move and simply watch as he walks away. Crowley. The pain is not just physical – not when I see him leaving. Then it all comes rushing back. How I don't actually hate him. And it's me who does this to him. To us. And I just want him to stop hurting, but I hurt him anyway, because I'm selfish.

Everything has come into focus now. The castle looks gloomy and mighty against the muddy grey sky. I'm not as cold – Snow's warmth has rubbed off on me. A small part of me thinks that was worth it. Another part of me just wants to run after him and kiss him and make everything worse. Mostly, I don't think anything at all. And that's just how it should be.

Then, I follow him, up to our room, where I will watch him sleep. I'm like a moth radiating towards light and warmth. I'm radiating towards fire – and towards Simon Snow. (I just want to stop feeling cold. Is that too much to ask?)

 


End file.
